First Love
by truhekili
Summary: Major Lexzie; some Mer-Der. Mer/Izzie/Alex friendship. What happens to them during the first year after the Season 4 finale? First chapter is Prologue but necessary. I own nothing. The voices in my head appreciates reviews. Thanks.
1. Chapter 1

Izzie Stevens lay quietly on his bed, gazing at the twilight, a pale purple mist driftin past the window. He'd fallen asleep nearly an hour before, but she refused to loosen her embrace, fearing that he might unravel further, as his mother had before she'd slit her wrists, as Rebecca had - right before his eyes. She'd returned home expecting to face anger, or bitterness, or seething disdain; she never expected what she found instead. She'd always known about the father he despised, but never about the mother that he would have done anything for - but for whom nothing would have been enough.

She finally exhaled, delicately running her fingers through his hair, stroking the soft curve of his cheek, tracing its passage into the incongruously rugged line of his jaw. She knew it was just the shadows in the room, but it unsettled her how much he looked like he had in the hospital, when he'd begged her for a second chance. She'd known, long before, some of what he'd done to protect his mother from his father; she'd never imagined how far he'd gone to protect her from herself. But that was love, and someday, Izzie would love her mother again, too, maybe even as much as Alex had loved his.

Izzie smiled wryly at the familiar thought. Her mother, Barbara, always loved someday, almost as much as she loved to cook, almost as much as she hated her job as a waitress in a truck stop diner. Barbara Stevens hated her job, but she loved her customers, most of them down on their luck, but like her, just one lucky break away from someday, when she would win the lottery, and her and Izzie would move to a bigger trailer, a double-wide with a neatly planted flower bed and a roof that didn't ping in the rain; when her singing career would take off, and they would leave behind the home with the rotting floor boards and the drafty windows, the crazy hours at the diner and the psychics who promised her the moon.

She got Izzie to love someday, too. Someday, they would go to Disney Land on her mother's tips; Santa Claus would bring the red bicycle with the multi-colored streamers and the silver horn; her father would return to take them away from the dingy home that was never more than two months ahead of being towed away for unpaid lot rent. Izzie loved someday, when the boy who got her pregnant at fifteen would play house with her and her daughter. But he wasn't interested in someday.

Izzie blamed her mother for having her give Hannah up, but she still loved someday, when she would find someone who would love her for her, and not for her face or her figure. And she found him in her dreams, when Denny would get a new heart, and they would live happily ever after. But someday came and went in a heartbeat, collapsing into a crumpled heap of pink fabric.

Except that she found that man again, and she would be with him someday, when he finally left his wife. But Izzie was already a woman, despite her girlish giggles when he shoved peanuts up his nose, and George was still a boy, frozen in a time that had passed her by: She'd already done love at fifteen. And someday came again, and their untimely romance - of goofy glances and hearts drawn on notebooks between classes – foundered as she became someone she didn't recognize, a dirty mistress, a cheater by proxy, and someday was further away then ever.

But Izzie still loved someday, so much that she sometimes almost hated Alex. Someday, she insisted angrily, she wouldn't be the pretty blonde supermodel that he had used as a sexual conquest; except that while she had been waiting for someday, she had been using him; while she was casually feeding her beast, he was fumbling blindly towards love. She told him, when he tried the second time around, that it was too soon, but that maybe they could try again, someday. And while she waited for someday, Alex waited for her.

But Alex wasn't a someday kind of guy. He'd failed his mother, failed Izzie, failed his medical boards. The litany was endless, and just hours before, he'd pleaded with her for another second chance to try the impossible, and again he failed. She rested her head against his, tightening her embrace. He'd be embarrassed, she knew, to find her there when he woke up. But she could never leave him alone like this, not without reassuring him that someday he would feel better, that someday he would forgive himself for his mother's death, that someday, someone would want him.

She glanced at the small clock on his bedside table, watching as the light breeze ruffled the curtains. Carefully pulling his blanket over them, she wondered if her mother was working the late shift at the diner that evening. She wondered what Barbara looked like these days, and if she might have time to phone her in the morning. Maybe tomorrow she would call her, she thought, settling closer to Alex as she sank into the familiar rhythm of his breathing.

--

Hours later, Alex Karev stirred in the chill air, his head swimming as his eyes slit open, peering at the steel grey dawn. He shifted furtively, trying not to wake Izzie, whose soft arms curled around him like barbed wire. Despite his shivering, his face flushed red as he recalled the previous evening. His first impulse was to flee from the bed, but he still felt vaguely nauseous and his limbs were numb. He inhaled sharply, trying to quell the bile rising in his throat. He was fine, he'd insisted all along, he had to be fine, he was hard core – about everything except his mother.

Izzie turned into him, and he automatically reached for the blanket covering them, wrapping it more snugly around her as she drew closer into his chest. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't want to protect her, when he didn't want her, even long after she'd decided she didn't want him. That had been his doing, he knew, that she thought he was scum, and that he'd been using her. He never apologized for cheating on her; he wouldn't. He'd seen it all before, with his parents, the lies, the excuses, the explanations; whatever little he was, he was not going to be his father's son.

Except that maybe he already was, since he'd failed her as much as his father had. Alex loved his mother more than anything, and she loved him, but not as much as she loved God. She told him that God loved him too, at least, until he was sixteen.

Because she loved God, she believed that marriage was forever, even if her bastard of a husband damn near beat her to death. She believed that everything happened for a reason. She believed it was her calling to save him from the drugs and the rage that consumed him, and so she prayed to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, to change him. She believed that love endured anything, that it was patient, and kind, and never failed.

But God didn't hear the screaming, didn't see the blood, didn't feel the broken bones, and didn't answer panicked prayers. God didn't feed her, or clean her, or calm her when her sanity shattered amid the nightmare she lived because everything happens for a reason. Alex hated God, almost as much as he hated his father – almost as much as he hated himself for being just like him, the night he drove him away, and his mother cried.

She told him that night that he lacked faith, and he watched her dissolve in his father's absence. Her love for her husband had been her life, and she had failed him. She hated herself, but Alex still loved her, even as her mind clouded, leaving behind a shadowy figure with trembling hands tangled in rosary beads. He still loved her when he removed those beads from her hands for the last time, to clean the blood them, before they came for her body. Later that week, he watched love lower her into a shallow grave.

By then he'd had enough of love, of faith, and hope, and forgiveness, and all the other crap that had killed her. He'd had enough of promises and lies and secrets, and whatever the hell else people called loved when they were desperate to fool themselves. He'd trust what he could see, and hear, and feel; he'd trust the here and now; he'd trust no one but himself, he'd be hardcore. He'd love the only way that made sense, with his hands, his lips, his body. He'd love only in silence, because words spin deceit, and only as far as his body would take him, because bodies don't lie.

And he was fine, until Izzie came along, and drew his attention beyond her lips and her hands and her face, beyond one night, and got him thinking about someday. Until he failed her, and she still believed in someday, but not in him, and he became temporary, until some one better came along, and she dumped him for someday.

But she'd already done her damage, and when Rebecca came, he'd almost believed that she saw something in him. But she'd seen nothing real; no more than his mother had in his father. She'd almost had him believing that the future could be different than the past, and even that he could be a decent father, and not his father's son. But that too had been a love stillborn, a product of fevered imagination.

And the truth remained, that he had failed, again, and that no one wanted him – even when he begged. He lay quietly, listening as Izzie started to stir, sighing as she moved gracefully beside him. He felt her hand lightly stroking his arm, and he would probably have jumped out of the window right then, except that his head was still swimming and his limbs were still heavy, and he was running out of places to run. She'd already seen him fail his boards, fail in surgery, fail her, fail Rebecca, fail his mother. Worse, she'd already seen him need, like his junkie bastard of a father.

He hated pity, almost as much as he hated himself for his failures, almost as much as he hated her for seeing him like this. He hated how she drew the damn blanket around him, warming him from the early morning chill. He hated how she curled around him like that, tying him together when everything else was falling apart. He hated that she knew how to quiet him, and that he could no longer fend off his exhaustion when she lay beside him, breathing so peacefully. He hated that as much as he wanted to escape, all he could do was sink further into the bed, into sleep, into her.

--

Meredith Grey gazed silently at the candles flickering in the breeze, dotting the pale moonlight with fiery sparks. She'd watched Derek Shepherd walk away, again, to dump another soon to be ex who-knows-what, so that they could try for good, again. She appreciated the impulse - he wanted to build their house on a solid foundation - the castle he'd dreamed up for them in some romantic fantasy. But she knew that castles built on clouds were no less fragile than houses made of candles, and that they were both walking off into the darkness.

She sat quietly on the grassy hill, surveying the outline of the home she thought he envisioned, so different from her house, her mother's house, really, the regal Queen Anne perched atop a city hill, peering imperiously down over its neighbors. Derek could have his fantasies, so long as the house he imagined was nothing like her mother's, just as she would be anything but her mother's daughter.

Meredith had loved her mother the only way she was permitted, from a discrete distance, her hands pressed against the glass, as if from the front row of an operating room gallery, the way one might love movie stars, larger than life figures known only at arms length.

Ellis Grey loved her house, which had been her mother's before her. She loved her mother's house, but not her mother, an imposing matriarch who disapproved of every thing, including her opinionated and energetic and brilliant daughter. Ellis Grey was everything a little girl ought not to be, and made every mistake a proper woman ought not to make, choosing a weak husband and a powerful career. She reluctantly had a child, in a rare bow to convention, and brokered a shocking affair because she wanted more from life than to be ordinary.

And through it all, Ellis Grey loved that house, with its elaborate furnishings, its silk rugs and grand architecture, its commanding view. She loved it almost as much as she loved being a surgeon, with its daily life or death dramas, so far removed from the dreary routine of diapers and spilled milk, of scraped knees and dented lunch boxes, of crabby husbands and overcooked meals.

Meredith hated her mother's house, with all its expensive appointments that couldn't be touched, its fine china that couldn't be used, its sterile rooms, where she was a permanent guest until she was sent away to boarding school, where she might earn her mother's love. But try as she might, her mother's love lie elsewhere, in her work, which never failed her, and in a man she could never win. No matter how brilliant a surgeon she became, Ellis Grey was never good enough, not for her mother, who would always think she'd married beneath the family name, and not for the man she pursued, who'd chosen for his wife not a renowned surgeon, but someone imperfectly ordinary.

But Ellis Grey loved him, enough to become the most ordinary of clichés, the mistress who accepted the scraps of love that he tossed her while wrestling with his conceit that he was a good man. Meredith watched her mother's life from the shadows, like a grainy old movie with a muffled soundtrack, and vowed to be nothing like her. Except that she had already become a surgeon, too, and too late to impress her mother; and she too had been a mistress, watching as a different man bartered with his conscience at her expense. It would all have been mindlessly redundant, had Meredith not won Derek, and had she not found herself here, framing out his fantasies in a ring of fire.

She would not be her mother's daughter, she insisted angrily to the fates, she would not be another powerful surgeon undone by a man always half there; she would not settle for a shadow love, where she would be a guest in someone else's dream. She would not love as her mother had, from behind glass walls. She would love this life Derek offered her, this castle in the clouds, built as far away as she could imagine from her mother's house. She would love it, if only she could figure out how.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yup, it's broken," Callie Torres said casually, pulling the x-rays down from the screen, "but it's not too bad. No nerve damage. I'll cast it for four weeks, and then have you do an exercise program to strengthen the surrounding ligaments. It'll be good as new. But you know what this means," she warned. "Uh-huh," Alex muttered as she examined his left hand, wiping away the rest of the blood and checking to see if he needed stitches. "No surgeries for at least six weeks, Karev," she announced, making additional notes on his chart. "How'd you do this, anyway?"

He shrugged, still staring at the floor, as he had since he'd arrived. "Ok, fine," she asked, "you want me to put spontaneous left tarsal fracture on the injury report? Or wait," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face, "tell me you finally popped Izzie Stevens?" He shook his head, desperate to focus on anything except the previous night.

"That'd be your job, Torres," Alex retorted, "but she did you a favor. Obviously you can do way better than O'malley." "You've heard, then" Callie asked hesitantly, "about me and Erica Hahn?" He nodded, watching disinterestedly as she set his cast, checking with him to see that the fit was right.

"No snide comments?" she asked, almost disappointed, as she completed her work. "What's to say?" he shrugged again, "Sloan's hotter, but he's an ass and you're not into looks or you'd never have picked O'malley, so if bad ass cardio chick's your thing, go for it. She's still an upgrade, right?" Callie tried not to look at him, and tried harder not to laugh, but succeeded at neither. "That's my ex you're talking about," she insisted slyly, jabbing him lightly with her scissors, "and remember, I can hurt you with these."

"Which ex are you defending?" he smirked. Rolling her eyes, she finished filling in his chart. "I'll let Bailey know about your activity restrictions. I'll tell her no suturing for at least four weeks," she added with a smile, "that should keep you out of the pit at least." He pushed himself off the exam table, taking the notes she'd written as he walked to the door. "Alex," she said softly, grabbing his arm, "whatever's going on with you, try not to take it out on your hands, okay? Next time, it might not be as easy to fix."

--

Two days later, Meredith Grey sat at their usual lunch table, her head buried in notes for the procedure she'd be assisting on later that afternoon. Her and Derek's clinical trial was going well, which left her with an enormous case load to keep up with. "Did you guys know," she announced excitedly, flipping through the thick binder, "that fewer than a hundred of these have been tried anywhere, like, ever?"

"Meredith," Christina interrupted, "get over it. It's not cardio. It's just lasers and chemo-therapy. It's barely even surgery." "Christina," Meredith protested, "these techniques may revolutionize the treatment of advanced brain cancer. It's amazing."

"I don't know why I bother," Christina said, slumping back in her chair as she polished off her yogurt. "I'm talking to a glorified shrink and a gynecologist. And at least Evil Spawn cuts, well, he used to anyway," she snickered.

"Yeah, Alex," Meredith asked, looking up from her book and motioning toward his hand, "how'd you do that, anyway?" He moved his hand around, scowling at Christina. "It'll be fine in six weeks," he insisted, adding smugly, "and meanwhile, no suturing." Meredith giggled as Christina stuck her tongue out at him. Hahn was playing nicer these days, but had still seen to it that Christina did her time in the pit for showing her up in surgery.

"Izzie must still be busy in the clinic," Meredith noted, glancing at her watch and then at Alex as she pushed her books aside and dug into her salad. "She's so wasting her time," Christina said, biting angrily into her apple. "It's all sprains and runny noses and mangy kids with lice. Removing ticks and splinters with tweezers is not surgery."

"Stop that," Meredith chastised, "she loves working in that clinic. She built that clinic, it's like the main thing she cares about right now. At least she's not, you know, still moping around like she was after…"

"Yeah, yeah," Christina said, waving her off, "I guess it's better than dealing with all those crazy hormonal pregnant chicks."

"Christina!" Meredith squeaked, giggling despite herself and glancing back at Alex, who was poking idly at his French fries. "How's that going anyway, Alex?" Meredith asked, sliding her pudding onto his tray. "Any news on when the new neo-natal attending will be here?" Alex nodded, jabbing his spoon eagerly into the pudding. "Two weeks," he said casually, "she's finishing up her fellowship at Yale, than coming right out here."

"Finishing up her fellowship?" Christina repeated curiously, "so she's never been an attending before?" "Nope," Alex said, devouring the rest of Meredith's pudding before moving on to her fruit salad. "I wonder why they went with someone so inexperienced," Christina said. Alex shook his head, stabbing the last of the cantaloupe: "Guess they wanted someone quick," he said, scooping up his and Meredith's trays and returning them as he left to answer Bailey's page.

--

Three days later, Alex lay face down on a bed in the on call room, watching the shadows on the floor as he replayed his latest conversation with Bailey in his mind. He heard Izzie enter, but said nothing as she sat down beside him, placing a hand on his back to see if he was awake. He shifted slightly, eyes still following the shadows, listening to her gather her thoughts. "How much longer are you planning on avoiding me?" she asked finally, her voice tired, and tinged with frustration. "I'm not avoiding you," he said quietly.

"Then why haven't you been home in almost a week? You're not on call," she pointed out, motioning to his cast. "That was an accident," he said flatly, "it'll be fine." She nodded, though she knew he probably couldn't see her in the dimly lit room. She wanted to tell him that he would feel better soon, but she wasn't sure if she believed that herself. She wanted to tell him that it hadn't been his fault, with his mother, or with Rebecca, but she knew that wouldn't matter to him. She wanted to tell him that she would help him, but he probably knew just as well as she did, that she had no idea how to do that. She wanted to say something, anything, but words just wouldn't come.

She sat for a long while, gently running her hand in familiar patterns across his back. He hated that she knew his body so well, knew the topography of his shoulders, knew just how to untie his knotted muscles, and just how to steady his ragged breathing. He hated that he moved so readily when she nudged him over, curling around him like a warm blanket as she lay down. He hated the soft curve of her shoulder, where she kept him, when he had nowhere else to go.

"Do I snore?" she asked suddenly, as if they'd just been engaged in a heated conversation on the topic. "A little," he admitted, "sometimes." "Like Meredith?" she asked, clearly worried. "No," he chuckled, "nobody snores like Meredith." "I'm sorry," she murmured. "For what?" he asked, adrift in the wilds of Izzie logic. "For snoring," she yawned. "Don't be, it's nice" he said quietly, wincing as her hand brushed his left shoulder.

"Did that hurt?" she asked, shifting away from him. "No," he said, readjusting to her movement. "Then why?" she asked. "Sorry, wasn't you," he mumbled, "just trying to stay awake." "Why?" she asked, puzzled. "Dreams," he said, after a long silence. "That's why you're sleeping here?" "Yeah," he said, "they're…not good, and loud, sometimes." "Okay," she said, as she began drifting off to sleep. "Okay?" he repeated. "Yeah," she said, as if it were obvious, "at least you don't snore."

--

"You don't like it" Derek noted, the disappointment plain in his voice. Meredith frowned and squinted more closely. She'd already seen enough flooring samples to last her several lifetimes, but this one wouldn't do, either. "It's not that I don't like it," she stammered, "it's just that…". "You hate it," Derek said, exhaling heavily and leaning back in his chair as he clicked the window shut on the computer screen.

"I know you really like that one, Derek," she said, "but…". "But nothing," he said, "you hate it. We'll find something else." Meredith nervously studied his face. "You keep picking styles just like that one," she blurted out, "I know that's what you really want." Derek shook his head. "Not necessarily. I just thought it fit the house. It's local hard wood. It's harvested responsibly. It's beautiful…"

"It's just like the flooring in my mother's study," Meredith interjected. "So?" Derek said, exasperated. Meredith glanced at the computer monitor again, measuring her words. "I want our house to be different. I don't want her furniture. I don't want her flooring. I just want something…new," she said. Derek nodded, running his hand through his hair and pulling up another computer program. "Okay," he said, "how about cork?"

"Like from wine bottles?" Meredith asked incredulously, wondering how far his latest environmental obsessions were taking them. "No," he laughed, "from trees. It's grown responsibly. It's a great insulator. It's less durable than wood, but…" "Derek," she snapped, cutting off another potentially lengthy lecture. "It's different," he pointed out, "it's new, it's available in many finishes…"

"Derek" she interrupted again, "I'm fine with hardwood. I know that's what you want. Let's just find a different style, or maybe a lighter shade." He nodded enthusiastically, rising from his desk and moving over to a nearby table. "Okay," he said, "I've got other samples of native…" "I'm sure you do," Meredith agreed. "Am I driving you crazy," he asked suddenly, "is this getting over-whelming?"

"No," she reassured him, shaking her head. "I just never knew you were so interested in building materials. This stuff is like porn to you," she added, laughing as she motioned toward the various materials displays littering his office. "It is not," he pouted. "Right," she agreed, "you're more like a little kid with a giant truck set. Is this your revenge for being raised around a bunch of sisters?"

He sighed, gazing at her. "I just want it to be perfect, Meredith." "I know," she said, "and whatever you decide, I'm pretty sure I'll like it." "Except the floors," he reminded her. "Is there anything else you don't like so far? The porch? The size of the bedrooms? We still have time to make changes." "Right," Meredith said, "as if the builders and the architect don't love you enough already." "They know I want it to be perfect," Derek insisted, walking over to her, "they'd never blame me for trying to please you."

Meredith eyed the current plans on his desk, his detailed notes covering every page. "I want you to enjoy it, this, the whole planning process" she said finally, motioning around the room at the models and poster boards. "You're up there all the time, anyway. I'm sure that it will be beautiful when it's done." Derek nodded silently. "But you'll tell me, right, if there's anything else you don't like about it?" he asked. She nodded hesitantly.

"Meredith," he said, sitting beside her on the low slung filing cabinet lining his office, "I want to build our home. Not just mine. I don't want to live alone in an empty dream house. I made that mistake once before. I'm not doing that again," he added fiercely. She bobbed her head, meeting his eyes. "I want a gazebo," she blurted out, "and a dog."

"A gazebo," he repeated, raising his eyebrows. "With a fountain," she added sheepishly. "A fountain," he smirked, trying to suppress his laughter. "You're making fun of me," she accused. "No, no, I'm not," he insisted, shaking his head. "That's great. We've got just the place for it right here, overlooking the water," he said, pointing to a detailed map of their building lot, "and we can get pressure treated lumber that's mildew resistant…"

"Derek," she interrupted, finally kissing him to stop the latest avalanche. "Right," he said, smiling as she released him, "too much information." She nodded patiently. "From now on, I'll tell you if I don't like something" Meredith promised. "Or if you want something that I haven't thought of," he prodded, "like say…? "A gazebo," she added, completing his sentence. "Yes," she agreed, "I won't come armed with detailed plans," she teased, "but I'll tell you what I want. Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, kissing her again. "But it still seems a lot like construction porn to me," she taunted, motioning toward the stack of building programs on his desk as she left his office.

--

"So who are Shepherd and Meredith having lunch with," Izzie asked, eyeing them from across the cafeteria as she set her tray down between Christina and Alex. "The new neo-natal attending," Christina said, looking up from a file folder. "You won't believe this, she entered Yale Med after her junior year of college, and they offered her a fellowship before she'd even finished her surgical residency. Yale never admits their own students into their fellowship programs."

"You're stalking the new attending?" Izzie asked, suspiciously surveying the amount of information Christina had already gathered in what could only have been a few hours. "I'm not stalking!" Christina hissed, "I'm checking out the competition. Pretty soon we'll be applying for fellowships, and we need to know what we're up against." "You're not even in neo-natal," Izzie laughed, tearing into her potato chips. "So how is she your competition?"

"Work with me here, Barbie," Christina snapped. "If we want the best fellowships, we need to know what people are doing to impress the review committees. She'd already co- authored three articles by the end of her first year in residency," she continued, tossing the file down disgustedly. "Hahn barely lets me near a scalpel. And she still hates me. What kind of recommendation am I going to get from her? There's politics to consider here, too, you know."

"So, what" Izzie laughed, "you're going to go into neo-natal now?" "Don't be stupid," Christina retorted, motioning toward Alex, "gynie's for losers. I have to get Hahn to let me in on her research. Introduce me to her colleagues... "

"Bad idea, crack-whore," Alex said, unwrapping his sandwich. "You're a robot. No one who actually meets you will want to work with you. You're better off letting your resume do your talking."

"Oh, right," Christina chortled, "I'm getting career advice from a gynecologist who's spent the last month wiping runny noses in Barbie's clinic. Face it, Evil Spawn, that new attending will never waste her time training someone stupid enough to punch a locker during a little tantrum. A lot of good you'll do around all those crazy hormonal chicks."

"Cast comes off next week," Alex said casually. "Few weeks of physical therapy and I'll be back to surgery, with the new attending, and Hahn will still hate you." "Guys," Izzie said, breaking into the fray, "come on. We just started residency. No one's expecting us to publish articles our first year in, or to…"

"That's the point, Barbie," Christina cut her off, crumpling up her coffee cup. "We can't just do what's expected. That woman didn't get to be an attending just because she finished her program in good standing. She did the unexpected. She did what the also-rans in her program didn't do. I have to do that, too," she insisted, grabbing her tray and stalking off to find Hahn.

--

"So, have you talked to her yet? Izzie asked Alex almost a week later. "Who," he said, looking up from the chart he was filling out. "Dr. Barton," Izzie answered, "the new neo-natal attending."

"Yeah, once" he replied, holding up his left hand, "she told me to come back when it was ready and she'd watch me do a simple procedure, see if I was any good with a scalpel; then we could talk about me maybe getting on her service."

"Really?" Izzie asked, frowning. "Yeah," he continued, "she seemed real impatient. Told me I needed to make up my mind between plastics and neo-natal, you know, get serious about my career. Everybody up there says she's tough but knows her stuff." "Sounds like she's fun to work with," Izzie said sarcastically. "Sounds like Yang," he replied glumly. "She was a maniac at lunch last week," Izzie said, "I wonder how things are going with her and Hahn. Christina was just so, I don't know… when she was reading Dr. Barton's resume… she just seemed so…"

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "but she's got a point. Fellowships are competitive, and it won't be too long before we'll be applying. And there are plenty of Bartons out there."

"I don't even have a specialty, yet, really," Izzie said sadly. "Cardio's not me, neuro's okay, general's okay… "What about neo-natal," Alex suggested, "Addison Shepherd said you had real talent for it." Izzie nervously shuffled the papers in her hands. "Yes, she did, I just, I don't know… are you sure, all of a sudden… about not doing plastics? It's not because of…?" she asked, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she glanced at the floor.

"No," Alex said quietly, shaking his head. "It's not because of Rebecca. Or Sloan. Well, not completely because of Sloan. He's an ass to work for, and I thought for a while that I'd just work around that." "But…?" she asked. "I don't know," he shrugged, "I always figured I wanted to be a doctor like Sloan. But, I think I'm just better in neo-natal, and not just because I learned more from Dr. Montgomery. It just seems to fit better."

"I thought I'd know for sure by now," Izzie admitted, "Christina's been positive from day one, Meredith's found the perfect match…" "Iz," Alex interrupted, gently squeezing her hand, "I thought we talked about you not comparing yourself to them. Especially not to Yang," he added, grimacing as if he'd just bit into an onion. "I know," she chuckled, "but it's hard not to. They're so confident in their choices."

"You will be, too, Iz," he insisted, "when you find the right place. You'll know. And Iz, I keep telling you, those two have nothing on you." Izzie smiled shyly, glancing down at the papers she was holding. "It's just hard not to get discouraged, I guess, around them. Meredith's doing this great clinical trial, and we all know Christina's going to be this kick ass cardio goddess." "Goddess" Alex repeated incredulously.

"Okay, maybe not, but…." Izzie continued. "Iz," he said, lightly grasping her wrist, "that's them. If you're that hung up on this all of sudden, then compare yourself to me instead. I was going to be Sloan someday, and I may end up a freaking gynecologist," he said wryly. "You're right," Izzie teased, "that does make me feel a little better." "Really, Iz," he said quietly, "I just mean that when you find the right specialty, you're going to be great at it." "You think?" she asked nervously. "I know," he said smugly, walking off to finish his charting.


	3. Chapter 3

"Izzie!" Meredith shouted, bursting into the kitchen just as Izzie had finished her phone conversation. "We did it, three more remissions!" she exclaimed, waving around a bottle of champagne. "Hey, Mere, that's awesome," Izzie gushed. "It's so exciting," Meredith continued, grabbing two glasses and setting them on the counter. "Derek says that if we publish our results in the next year, we might get permission to run a larger scale clinical trial. Wouldn't that be amazing?"

"Yeah," Izzie agreed, "than you'd have your pick of fellowships." "What?" Meredith asked, setting the bottle on the counter. "Christina was talking about it a few weeks ago, about how competitive it is to apply for the top fellowships. With all the success your research is having, you could go almost anywhere."

"I'm not going anywhere," Meredith said, shaking her head as she grabbed the bottle and the glasses and walked into the living room. "Derek and I are building a house here, remember, candles, romance, that whole thing. He can't wait until it's finished. He goes up there everyday to see how it's coming. He's like a little kid with a giant Lego set."

"So if Harvard Med offered you some great fellowship, you wouldn't go?" Izzie asked, flipping through the DVD rack. "Why would I?" Meredith asked, "I can do every thing that I want to right here." "Sure, I guess," Izzie said, popping her selection into the DVD player, "but Christina said…"

"Christina's a barracuda," Meredith said, so seriously that Izzie almost snorted her champagne. "And I say that with love, because she's my best friend, but that's all she wants right now, to be some uber cardio goddess, and more power to her, but that's not what I want." "You don't?" Izzie asked, watching as Meredith poured her second glass. "I don't want to be my mother," Meredith insisted fiercely.

"Your mom was an awesome surgeon, Meredith," Izzie protested. "Yeah," Meredith agreed, "but she screwed up everything else." "You really believe that?" Izzie asked. Meredith finished half her glass before continuing: "She married someone she didn't love, she broke up her marriage to be with a guy who went back to his wife, she packed her only kid off to boarding school, and she died alone. That's pretty screwed up."

"She didn't die alone, Meredith," Izzie pointed out, "and everyone makes mistakes. "We've already made some of her mistakes." "Don't remind me," Meredith grumbled, sinking further back into the couch. "I called my mom today," Izzie blurted out, "just before you came home."

"Really?" Meredith asked, surprised, "since when do you do that, it's been like what… years?" Izzie laughed weakly, "a few weeks, actually. I've been calling her lately. It's hard, weird, but… getting better." "Why all of a sudden?" Meredith asked. Izzie took another sip of her drink, wondering if she even had an answer to that question. "It just seemed like time," she said, "you know?" Meredith nodded, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. "Yeah, I wonder sometimes, if my mother and I had had more time when she was… when I could have talked with her, if maybe things might have been a little different between us."

"You think so?" Izzie asked. "I don't know," Meredith replied, "things look different now, with work, with Derek. I was so mad at her, for so long, and all I ever wanted to be when I grew up was to not be like her."

"Me, too," Izzie agreed, meeting Meredith's surprised glance, "with my mom". "You mean because of the psychic thing?" Meredith asked, plainly confused. "No," Izzie said, shaking her head. "My mother was a waitress in a diner, and she'd see all these truckers every day who were just like my dad, and she'd tell me all the time that someday he'd come back for us and we'd be a family again and move out of that beat up old trailer. Obviously that never happened," she said sourly, "and I left on my own."

" I thought she'd lied to me," she continued, "you know, and later I thought she was just stupid for waiting around in that trailer park for a guy who was never coming back. But I've done the same thing..." "Izzie, that's different…" Meredith interrupted, shaking her head. "No, Meredith, I'm not saying it's the same situation, but I get why she did it. I still think she was wrong, and sometimes I still hate her for it, but I think I get it."

"I never got that far," Meredith said, "with my mother. She was always so distant. I never really got to know her as a person, just as a surgeon. Those tapes," she said, pointing to the neatly stacked shelf, "that was her whole life as far as I knew." "Do you wish you had" Izzie asked, "gotten to know her, I mean?"

"I don't think I would have liked her," Meredith admitted, frowning slightly. "You like Christina," Izzie pointed out, sarcastically. "You've been spending too much time with Alex," Meredith laughed, grabbing the remote as she refilled her glass.

--

"This your first time?" the pretty brunette asked, her tone increasingly amused as Alex fumbled with the tiny zipper running the length of her black dress. "Of course," he smirked, his fingers sliding awkwardly across the slippery fabric. "Here," she said impatiently, pushing his hands away and reaching back to undo the troublesome garment.

"Nice place," he commented coolly, his eyes roaming around the expensively furnished room as her dress pooled around her feet. "It serves its purpose," she said smugly as she continued to undress, "or did you come here to discuss my taste in interior design?" "I'm sure it's amazing," he remarked, casually sizing her up as she lay across the bed. "Oh," she asked suddenly, "did you want a drink?"

"No," he said flatly, moving to join her on the bed. "Good," she nodded, unbuttoning his shirt, "I'm not much of a drinker. Never have been." "You must be from the east coast," he teased, observing her aggressiveness approvingly as she leaned in to kiss his shoulder, "I'm guessing Connecticut."

"Right on both counts," she joked, mildly entertained. "How'd you guess?" "Definite New Haven accent," he taunted, "pretty easy to spot the Yale crowd." "There's no such thing as a New Haven accent," she snapped haughtily, baffled but playing along, "you're just jealous. You must be from some place awful."

"Iowa," he declared flatly. "Ooohhh," she taunted, "that's one of those rectangular states, right, with all the corn?" "Lot more to Iowa than corn," he retorted. "Oh, come on now, farm boy," she teased "don't go getting all riled up on me. I like corn."

"Do you?" he smirked. "They have corn in New Haven, do they?" "They do," she nodded, "but geography, it's not my thing." "No, huh? So what is?" "I don't really know how to describe it," she insisted, "I'll have to show you." "Sounds interesting," he said, "tell me." "You know, farm boy," she continued, "running her hands down his chest, "you're cute and all, but you talk too much."

--

"Do you still take three sugars?," Barbara Stevens asked, setting their cups on the table as she and Izzie squeezed into a corner booth. "You remembered" Izzie noted. "It's my job to remember," Barbara remarked quietly, stirring her tea. "It's just… it's been a while," Izzie replied nervously. "But I'm thrilled to see you, Cricket," Barbara smiled, "what brings you all the way up here all of a sudden?" "What?" she asked, catching her daughter's sudden silence.

"I'm sorry," Izzie said, shaking her head and laughing. "I was just wondering, why did you always call me that, anyway?" "Cricket?" her mother laughed. "It just seemed to suit you when you were young, all long legs and energetic, always chattering away about something, always so excited."

"I drove you crazy" Izzie noted, suddenly horrified. "Sometimes," Barbara replied, "what kid doesn't? But I knew, almost from the day you were born, that you'd get out of here. You'd never settle for this," she said, motioning vaguely around the diner, "you'd go off and do great things. And here you a surgeon," she finished proudly. "Yeah, well," Izzie squirmed, staring into her coffee cup. "It's okay, Isobel," Barbara said flatly. "I wanted out too, remember. It just didn't happen for me."

"It could have," Izzie said pointedly, before she could bite her tongue. "He wasn't a bad man, Isobel," Barbara said after a long, awkward silence. "Your father, he wasn't a bad man, and he wasn't why I stayed here so long." Izzie picked uncomfortably at the paper placemat in front of her, refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "He was lost, Isobel, even before we got married. Never should have, really, gotten married. He drove back and forth across this country more times than he could probably count. Not trying to go anywhere in particular, you know, just trying to keep going."

"Then why'd you marry him?" Izzie asked. "Because I was pregnant," Barbara said bluntly, "and young, and naïve, probably." Izzie exhaled, watching her coffee cool. "It wasn't your fault," Barbara said casually, "if that's what you're thinking, and it wasn't his, wasn't mine, wasn't anybody's, I don't think, it just happened, and here I am." Izzie nodded silently, adding another sugar to her coffee before even tasting it. "And I didn't want that for you," Barbara said finally after another long silence.

"With Hannah," you mean, Izzie said quietly. The older woman nodded. "You may never forgive me for that, Isobel, but I wasn't going to watch you…" her voice faltered as she motioned toward the trailer park across the street. "You were meant for better things. I always believed that," she insisted. "I maybe should have told you that more often, when you were a kid," Barbara acknowledged reluctantly. "But I used to watch you and think someday, my daughter's going to do something great, someday my daughter's going to do everything I didn't do, and have everything I….well" she stopped suddenly, smiling again, "and here you are a surgeon. I guess I got my wish."

Izzie nodded nervously, watching as the waitress on duty refilled their cups. "So if you didn't stay for him," she asked, puzzled, "why'd you say you did. Why stay at all? You said often enough that you wanted out….?" Barbara shook her head, stirring her tea. "For the same reason everybody stays where they are, I guess. You wait, you watch, you hope, you wait until you're happier, until you have more money, until the time is right, you just wait… until that's all you know to do."

"So you really weren't waiting for him to come back?" Izzie asked, surprised. Barbara shook her head wryly, "I never had him in the first place." "Then why did you always tell me…?" Izzie asked. "It was easier, I guess" she admitted, "to keep believing it, and to have you keep believing it."

"How about you," Barbara asked suddenly, "I don't imagine with all your studies and your crazy hours that you have time to be seeing anyone?" Izzie shook her head quickly, dropping her spoon, "No, I'm not." "Isobel?" Barbara asked suspiciously. "I'm not, seriously," Izzie replied. "Seriously, you're not seeing anyone, or you're not seeing anyone seriously?" Barbara queried. "Both," Izzie said quickly, "neither, I…"

Barbara laughed, finishing her tea. "Isobel, I didn't mean to pry." "You're not," Izzie insisted, "I mean, there's nothing to pry into." Barbara nodded doubtfully, gesturing across the diner. "You know," she said with a laugh, "this place fills up every night with people not seeing people the way it sounds like you're not seeing whoever it is that you're not seeing, the bars up the road, too."

Izzie laughed, grimacing a little. "I was seeing someone. I'm not now, but… it's complicated." Barbara nodded, "always is. My friends who work in the bars up the road will always have work. Speaking of which," she continued, "I really do need to get back. I wish I'd known you were coming, I would have…"

"No, no, that's fine," Izzie said, "this was really just a spur of the moment thing. I just haven't been here in so long, and I wanted to see you again." Barbara smiled, walking Izzie to her car, "will you be by again than, sometime soon?" she asked. "You know I'd always love to see you, have you come for a visit…"

"I will," Izzie promised, hugging her awkwardly. "It's hard to plan trips. I don't have a car yet, so…" "Oh," Barbara said, pointing to the battered Jeep, "it's not yours?" "No," Izzie said, "it's a friend's." "Does this friend know you're here?" she asked jokingly. "He wouldn't mind," Izzie laughed. "He?" Barbara asked, raising her eyebrows. "I'll call you next week, okay?" Izzie asked, rolling her eyes as she pulled out of the parking lot.

--

"You still awake?" Izzie whispered later that night, brushing Alex's shoulder as she glanced at the clock on his bedside table. "Yeah," he said, "what time is it?" "Almost one o'clock," Izzie said, walking over to close his window before climbing in beside him. "I left your keys on the kitchen table," she reported. "I was too tired to stop for gas. I'll do that tomorrow." "You don't need to" he said, "I'll take care of it. You have a good trip?" he asked, as she settled in next to him.

"Yeah," she said slowly, "I think so." He nodded, knowing he'd hear more about it soon enough, and shifted slightly as she burrowed further under the covers. "Why'd you have the window open, anyway?" she asked, "it's freezing tonight." He shrugged as she drew closer into him. He loved rare summer nights light this, cool, like winter.

"You doing okay? I've been on call this week" she said, lightly brushing his fingers. He smiled despite himself. Izzie was spring all year round, usually, like a riot of wild flowers erupting in every direction. He wished he knew what was bothering her, and how he could fix it, but he doubted that she knew, and he knew he was useless to her like this, anyway.

"I'm off the next three nights," she said quietly, in answer to a question she'd never make him ask. He almost winced, imperceptibly, as she slid her arms around him, in answer to a need she'd never make him voice. He hated that she said so little, and even more, that she didn't need to say anything.

"I left you a milkshake, for later," she murmured sleepily, brushing her lips against his forehead "chocolate, I had some on the way home." He hated when she did that too, but not as much as he hated how warm her hands felt when she stroked his back, before she fell asleep. It wasn't her fault, really; he knew it was automatic for her; mostly he hated his body for betraying him, hated how its tightly coiled muscles, ever vigilant, unraveled at her touch, leaving him undefended against the night's onslaught.

"I set the alarm for six thirty" she muttered, already half asleep, and as much as he hated her silence, he hated her breathing even more, its soothing rhythm stilling his dreams. He hated how different it seemed from the night light he'd stopped using as a kid, because he didn't want to see the beatings coming, and the security blanket he abandoned when he was five, because cold is the least of your problems when you sleep in a closet, where the fake monsters are your last refuge against the real ones.

"You can wake me," she whispered, half into his chest, "I don't mind," and he hated what she meant, and as much as he hated being lied to, he hated even more that she was telling the truth. He hated how much she knew about monsters real and imagined, and how she drove them away, and how there was a milkshake waiting for him anyway, just in case.

He heard her sigh as she pulled the over-stuffed comforter – which she added to his bed because she was sure he'd freeze someday – around them as she drifted off to sleep. He would probably have jumped up, just then, and flung the damn window wide open, just for spite, except that he was still too tired to move, and it was always too cold when she wasn't there, her warm fingers curled around his. He hated that the most, her hands, a constant reminder that someone was with him in the darkness.

--

"Derek, cut it out," Meredith laughed days later, pushing him away as she fumbled for her keys, "someone might be home." "What do they care," he insisted, as he resumed kissing her neck, "your house is a brothel, remember." "A youth hostel," she corrected him smugly, "Christina calls it a youth hostel." "Um-um," he nodded, protesting as she pushed him away again. "You know," Derek said smartly as they entered the foyer, "Christina's not moving into the new house with us."

Meredith giggled again, kissing him back, the faint flicker of the television in the study momentarily distracting her. "Go upstairs," she directed, handing him her purse, "take this, I'll be up in two minutes." "Tease," Derek sniped, sulking as he turned to go up to her bedroom. Meredith wondered if Izzie was home, but found Alex asleep on the couch. Searching for the remote, she shut off the television and slipped the beer bottle from his fingers, setting it on the coffee table. Izzie must be on call, she thought, covering him with a blanket and gently running her fingers through his hair before quietly leaving the room.

"You and Karev, huh," Derek teased, "I've heard he gets around, but…" "Shut up," she smirked, punching him lightly, "upstairs, now. " "Really, Meredith," he continued, "I thought you had better taste than…" "Derek," she said tiredly, shaking her head as they entered her bedroom. "Hey, I'm just kidding. You know that," he said, taking her hands in his as he searched her eyes. "I know," she said, "it's just, he's having a really rough time right now, and Izzie usually stays with him when she's home, and…"

"Meredith, Meredith," he interrupted, grinning and lightly kissing her hands, "it's okay. I know. They're your friends. You take care of them. I understand that. I think it's sweet." "Okay," she said, tracing her fingers along the side of his face, "now, where were we…?" "You can have your way with my body," he announced proudly "you can even pick my flooring, but they're still not moving in with us…"

--

"Izzie, you're awfully quiet today, anything wrong?" Meredith asked nearly a week later, stabbing half heartedly at her chicken salad. "What could be up with her?" Christina said, tearing her eyes away from the journal article she was reading. "She spends all her time in the clinic. This is what's up," Christina snapped, slamming the journal down in front of them. "Seventy five research citations, already. Can you believe that seventy five other articles have already cited Barton's work on preemie airway development?"

"Christina," Meredith intoned patiently, "are you obsessing about Barton again?" "Who's obsessing?" Christina shot back, slumping angrily back into her chair. "It's just not fair. I'm the best surgical resident here and I'll still be waiting for Hahn to let me in on a high level research project while even Evil Spawn's name will be mentioned in the New England Journal of Medicine." "Really," Meredith laughed, "you think Alex's going to publish all his work under the name Evil Spawn?"

"It's not his work, Meredith, and that's not the point. The point is I cannot, will not, come in second to anyone in my resident cohort, and especially not to…" "Evil Spawn, yes, I get it," Meredith added, trying not to laugh even harder at Christina's pained expression. "Don't you think you should talk with Hahn about this, or maybe the Chief?" Meredith suggested. "What good would that do," Christina griped, "Hahn's on some kind of power trip and if I went to the Chief it would just piss her off more. Maybe I should just sign up to be a social director in Barbie's clinic."

"You'd need a personality for that," Izzie shot back, poking angrily at her cottage cheese.

"What's with you, Barbie," Christina retorted, "still upset because I can kick your ass in cardio?" "Not if you can't get near the operating table," Izzie needled, as Christina sat back, seething. "At least I'm still a surgeon," Christina said smugly, "and Hahn's going to recognize that whether she likes it or not." Meredith and Izzie watched resigned as Christina gathered her tray and set off to do battle with Hahn, again. "That's not gong to end well," Izzie said, shaking her head. "No," Meredith agreed, "no it's not."

"So, Izzie," Meredith continued, "what's bothering you? You're not usually that blunt, even with Christina." Izzie picked nervously at her food. "I think Alex is sleeping with her," she said finally. "Christina?" Meredith gasped. "No," Izzie said, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind, "Barton." "Really" Meredith asked, "has he said anything to you?" "Like he would," Izzie replied, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, then," Meredith said, "why do you think that? She really doesn't seem like his type." Izzie snickered, giving her that look again "Everybody's his type," she snapped. Meredith laughed, shaking her head, "Okay, yeah, he's Alex, but I don't know, Izzie, lately I've only ever seen him working or at home. What makes you think he's…" "I just have a funny feeling," Izzie said, shaking her head.

"Alright" Meredith shrugged "so, what if he is? Are you guys, like, together again, or something?" "No," Izzie said. "Do you have some kind of arrangement, that you'll tell each other if you get involved with someone new?" "No," Izzie admitted. "Does he have some reason to believe it would even bother you if he was sleeping with her?" Meredith asked. Izzie sighed, shaking her head, "I guess not." "Then what's the problem, Izzie?" "I don't know," she said, "I just…I don't know".

"Is it because you're, you know, sleeping together, well, not sleeping together sleeping together, but like… you know," Meredith said, opening her yogurt. "No," Izzie said quietly, "We do that sometimes because he's…well… he's just…" Izzie said, her voice trailing off. "He needs you now, I get that," Meredith nodded, "and Izzie, I don't think he's in any shape to be doing what you're thinking. I mean, yeah he's Alex, but still…"

Izzie opened her salad before meeting Meredith's eyes. "Has he said much to you, you know, about the whole Rebecca thing…?" Izzie asked. "Not everything," Meredith said slowly, "but enough for me to understand why you two are…well, you know." Izzie nodded, unwrapping her plastic utensils but leaving her dish untouched.

"Have you asked him?" Meredith prodded, "you know he'll tell you the truth if you do." Izzie shook her head reluctantly. "I haven't talked to him about it. Maybe I'm not sure I want to know." Meredith moved her tray aside and reached for the journal article she'd been reading. "You should really talk to him, Izzie. I doubt he's doing anything, not with how things have gone for him lately, but if you're worried…" "Who said I was worried?" Izzie asked defensively, jamming he fork into an errant cucumber.


	4. Chapter 4

"What are you watching?" Meredith asked two weeks later, dropping onto the couch next to Alex, Tequila in tow. "One of you mother's gastrointestinal resections," he said, "the chick totally rocked it." "Alex," she exclaimed, punching his arm, "my mother was not a chick." "Yeah, well," he raised his eyebrows mischievously, "she still rocked it."

"What's with the Tequila," he asked, glancing over twice, suddenly suspicious, "did Shepherd do something stupid?" "No," she laughed, he's fine, he's got an early surgery tomorrow. "You're not assisting him?" Alex asked, moving to rewind the tape. "No, Izzie is. She wants to take another shot at neuro, to see if that's what she wants to pursue."

Alex nodded, shaking his head. "I hope she figures that out soon, it's all she talks about lately. Yang's got her paranoid or something." "Alex," Meredith warned playfully. "I know, I know," he growled, "I'm just saying…"

"I know," Meredith nodded, laughing, "Christina and Hahn have locked horns and neither one's budging." "We could sell tickets to that," Alex said, settling back onto the couch and starting the next tape. "I bet your mother was totally like that," he said. "Like what?" she asked. "You know, single minded, hardcore, total pro." "I've heard that she was," Meredith said, watching as he drank his beer. "You admire that?" she asked. "I respect it," he nodded. "You respect Christina?" Meredith teased.

"Just because I respect it doesn't mean I like it," he grumbled. "I mean, sure, I respect her talent, she's a robot, and a competitor. But that's not the only way to be a good doctor."

"No, huh?" she asked, curiously. He shook his head, taking another swig of his beer. "I wish Izzie would see that. She keeps comparing herself to Yang, and that's just not her, you know. She's just so much better than she thinks and…"

"You still love her," Meredith remarked, cutting him off. He eyed her warily, fingering his beer bottle. "It's not like you hide it very well," she said softly, "at least, not as far as I can tell." "Too late, anyway," he shrugged. "She thinks your sleeping with Barton," Meredith said. "What?" he grimaced. "Barton's a machine," he said, frowning. "She works twenty four seven. She freaking dictates articles while she's scrubbing for her surgeries. I doubt she even knows about sex. She probably thinks the stork stuffs the fetuses into the mothers so that we can go in and get them out and than write articles about them."

"I take it," Meredith sputtered, trying to control her laughter. "that that means you're not sleeping with her?" "If I was sleeping with anybody," he said, "would I be here with you on a Friday night watching your mother – who rocks, by the way – dissecting some drunk's liver?" "No, no," she admitted, "I guess not. But Izzie sounded pretty convinced that you were, so I just thought…"

"Once," he admitted, meeting her eyes, "once in the last two months, almost, with a hooker. I didn't even seal the deal," he shrugged, "just paid her for her time and left. That's it." Meredith opened the Tequila and poured two shots. "You sure she was… safe?" she asked, handing him a glass. "Yeah," he said, "Didn't end up mattering, but I was careful. There are clean places, you know…" "I know," she said, watching as he lowered his eyes to the shot glass. "I just wanted, well…hookers can't really reject you," he said softly, answering the question she'd never ask.

"And you just left anyway, huh?" she asked. He nodded, fingering his glass. She set the bottle on the table in front of them and leaned back into the couch. "I told Izzie I didn't think you were doing anything," she said, after a long silence. "I think she's just upset about everything else, you know, this Christina business and all?" Alex nodded, finishing his shot and watching as Meredith refilled their glasses.

"You still haven't told me why you and your good friend Tequila are together again," Alex pointed out, taking his refilled glass back from her. "If Shepherd didn't do anything stupid…" . Meredith shook her head, pouring her next shot. "It's not that. It's what he may do," she said, "I think he's going to ask me to marry him again." "That's a surprise?" Alex asked, raising his eyebrows. "Dude, you're building a house together. Isn't that like, the next step?"

"It is," Meredith nodded, "I just don't want to be like her," she said, motioning toward the television screen. "I don't want to be like my mother." "But she wasn't married, right?" he asked, wondering if the Tequila had kicked in already. "She was married to my father," Meredith replied, "but she left him for a married man, and he ended up going back to his wife." "Okay," Alex said, "but what does that have to do with you and Shepherd. You don't think he's going back to Addison, do you?"

"No, of course not," Meredith said, "it's just that, when the guy left my mother, she… " "She what," Alex asked, watching her pour his next shot, "she tried to kill herself," Meredith whispered. "Oh," Alex said, his face darkening as he lowered his eyes. "That's not the worse part," she said, "sometimes, I used to wish that she had. I thought maybe it would have been easier that way, like maybe I wouldn't be so screwed up…"

"I doubt it," he said, his voice wavering oddly, "that it would have been easier, I mean." "Yeah, I know," she said, silently holding his gaze. "It just scares me that someone like her could be so involved with a man that she could lose herself in him. He was everything to her, and when he wasn't there anymore, she just fell apart." "That's not you, Mere," he said softly, turning back towards the television, "that's her." She shrugged, fiddling with her shot glass: "Cycles repeat." "Not always," he shot back. "No," she said, "you're right, not always."

"You love Shepherd; you'd never put up with his shit if you didn't," Alex remarked calmly, "he doesn't deserve you, but he's got you anyway." "True," she giggled. "He loves you," Alex said, more as a statement than a question. "True again," she agreed. "You think too much," he noted, "especially under the influence." "Thinking under the influence, that's bad," Meredith repeated. "You're worried you're going to screw this up?" he asked. "Bingo," she said.

"Too late for that," he insisted, shaking his head. "Shepherd's already in too deep. He'll never leave you, Mere. He's no brain surgeon – well, okay he is – but he's just not that stupid." She laughed as she poured the next round. "So," he said, lifting his glass, "congratulations." "For what?" she asked. "For thinking that he's going to ask you to marry him again," Alex said, "and for letting me off the hook for not dancing at your wedding." "Oh, no, buster," she said, shaking her head as she set up the next round, "if I'm getting married, you're dancing."

--

"I'm surprised to see you still here," Izzie said coolly the next week, watching as Alex stacked boxes of bandages against the back wall of the clinic. "What, why," he asked, I'm always here on Tuesday's and Thursday's, and it's quiet today so I was…" "I just thought you might have something else to do for Dr. Barton," she sniped, grabbing more boxes from the cart and adding them to the growing stack. "Iz," he said quietly, without looking up, "I'm not sleeping with her."

"Who said you were?" she snapped back, "and it's not like it's my business anyway, and I…" "Iz," he said, grabbing her arms and looking directly into her eyes, "I'm not sleeping with her. The only one I've been sleeping with is you, and… you know what I mean by that," he added wryly. "Yeah," she snapped, "that I'm stupid enough to…" She stopped suddenly, immediately regretting her words. "Alex, that's not what I meant," she said, reaching awkwardly for him as he turned away from her, his face flushed red.

"Alex, I promise, that's not what I meant. I sleep with you as much for me as I do for you, it's good, really, to be with you. These past few weeks have just been so awful and I'm, I'm sorry," she said, pulling his hand into hers. "Come with me," he said, directing her toward the supply closet at the rear of the clinic. "Alex, I mean it," she repeated, "I'm sorry." "I know," he said, "I accept, whatever. I want to know what's bothering you, Iz. You're starting to really worry me. It's not like you to be so… " "So mean?" she filled in sheepishly. "Spill," he said.

"I'm thinking of leaving," she blurted out, her eyes locked on the floor. "The hospital?" Alex stammered. "No, no," she shook her head quickly, taking his hand again, "not that. Of course not. The surgical program. I'm thinking of leaving the surgical program."

"Oh," Alex said, exhaling quietly, "okay, well, to do what?" "Pediatrics. I still want to be a doctor," she said nervously, "just not a surgeon." "Oh, well, that's great," Alex said, you'd be awesome at it. And you could still do a lot of work in the clinic." "Yeah," Izzie said excitedly, "that's what I thought. This way I could do both, and…" "And what?" Alex asked, watching quizzically as she grew quiet again. "And what, Iz?"

"Sorry," she stammered, "I haven't talked about this with anyone else yet, and it sounds scarier when you say it out loud." "Scarier?" he asked, frowning. "They told us this would happen, Alex, remember, when we started, they told us not everyone would make it." "Yeah," he acknowledged, "they told us not everyone would end up a surgeon. So?"

"So I started out in this great surgical program, and I worked so hard to get here, Alex – so hard," she said adamantly, "and now I'm talking about throwing it all away, and for what? Did I just waste all that work, all the time that Bailey invested in me – oh, God! – Bailey's going to kill me, and Christina, well she'll just…."

"Iz," Alex interrupted, gripping her arms lightly as he tried to calm her. "Iz, what if this is what you really want to do?" "It is," she nodded, "I'm sure" she added, smiling shyly. "It's just…it's just…" "It's just you" Alex filled in softly. "Yeah," she nodded, exhaling deeply, "yeah it is." "Well that's awesome, Iz, and I'm sure Bailey will be happy for you." "Maybe," she agreed reluctantly. "Iz," he said, "seriously, if Bailey was going to kill us, she would have done it by now, and they'd never even have found our bodies…"

"You're right," Izzie agreed, laughing. "But I still can't help but think that after all I did to get here, and to stay here…" "After all that, what?" he asked. "You'll be doing something you love, something you can respect yourself for," he said. "Yeah," she agreed reluctantly. "But you'd throw all that away to go chasing after some crack whore cardio goddess, or some neurotic neuro diva?" he asked.

"Alex!" Izzie exclaimed, giggling "you did not just call them that!" "Iz," he said gently,

"I just think it'd be great if you'd finally pick what's right for you. I told you, neither of them has anything on you." "That's not what you said when we first met," she reminded him, "you told me that I'd never make it as a surgeon, that I'd end up in peds, like it was some kind of cut rate back alley specialty." "I told you you'd wash out and end up in peds or gynie," he corrected, rolling his eyes, "with me, apparently."

Izzie giggled, searching his eyes. "You really think I'm… not making like a huge mistake here. You'd tell me if you thought that, right?" she asked hesitantly. "Oh, right, of course you would," she laughed again when she saw his incredulous look. "So, you remember that first conversation, too, huh?" she taunted as they walked out the door, "Never forget it," he grumbled, shaking his head.

--

"Well," Derek asked proudly, "what do you think?" "About what?" Meredith asked, looking up from the chart she was writing on. "Our gazebo," he beamed, pointing at his computer screen. "I designed it myself. Did all the specs, all the measurements, have a preliminary list of the materials," he noted, pointing to a dialogue box in another window but leaving it at that. "Derek, its beautiful," Meredith said, studying the computer image. "How big is it?" she asked, scrolling down to check the measurements he provided.

"A little bigger than I planned at first," he admitted, "but it's got planters built in, and room for a fountain right around here," he said, guiding the pointer to the far left corner of the screen. "Wow," she said, scanning the list of dimensions, "it's huge." "Too big?" Derek asked nervously. "I made a smaller scale model, too, if you'd like that better. I can call it up right here."

"No," she said, reaching across to stop him. "This is amazing, it's perfect, it's just what I wanted," she said, scrolling the image. "Is this the view over the water?" "Yes," Derek replied excitedly, "the platform's elevated, so we'll have a view of the bay. And if you want," Derek added, "we could enclose it so we can use it all year around."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "that wouldn't fit up there. We need to feel it, you know, the wind coming off the water. We need to feel like we're part of it, the land and all." "You're starting to sound like me," Derek chuckled, "people are going to think I'm brain washing you into becoming some kind of a wild mountain woman." Meredith giggled: "I was wild long before I met you, mister."

"What about the mountain part," he asked, raising his eye brows. "Not so much," she admitted, "but…" "Still good?" he asked. "Yeah," she said, gazing at the computer screen again. "I wanted new and different. I wanted a change. I never expected anything like this," she admitted, motioning again to the monitor.

"What would you change about it?" he asked, surveying his plans. "It needs to be white," she said, shrugging. "I know that's impractical, and you've probably already got wood samples ready, and if they're treated or whatever it might be hard to get that color, but…" "Meredith," he interrupted between key strokes, " I'm working on giving you less information, so …." " So I'll work on the rambling, right," she replied sheepishly.

"Like this?" he asked, calling up a new image. "This is antique white, but I think we should talk with the painters to find out which color treatments would hold up best near the water, and what materials they're available in…" His voice trailed off as she placed her hand over his, guiding the computer pointer to a color pallet. "Right," he added, "I mean, I'll talk to the paint consultants and bring you some samples and maybe you can meet with them and…"

"That one," she said, "clicking on the color she wanted and watching it reframe the image in a vivid white hue. "You sure?" he asked, "because you don't always get perfect color resolution on these screen" "Derek," Meredith pointed out, "this is a medical imagining workstation, I think the resolution's pretty true." He nodded reluctantly, "I know, I'm just saying…"

"That's the color," she repeated, "I'm sure. So why don't you check out the materials it's available in," she added, rolling her eyes, "and then we'll pick from them." "Well," he grinned, taking his mouse back, "as long as you're sure." Meredith stifled another giggle. "Really, Derek," she teased, "this isn't brain surgery." "That's for sure," he agreed, "this is much more complicated."

--

I did it," Izzie announced quietly two weeks later, dropping onto the couch. "Did what?" Alex asked, watching as she grabbed the remote to lower the television volume, before seizing the bowl of pop corn from him. "I talked to the Chief and Bailey," she admitted. "And?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"I think the Chief was disappointed," she sighed, "especially after all he went through to get me back into the program after…. well, and Bailey…" "Bailey what?" he asked. "She said it would be hard, you know, that I'll basically have to do another intern year, starting from scratch almost."

"It'll be hard either way, Iz," Alex replied bluntly, "so you might as well do what you're passionate about." She nodded, her cheeks almost burning. "And you're not starting from nothing, you already know how do a lot of procedures, how to get things done in the hospital." "I know," she whispered, "but I won't even be able to start, really, until the next intern class comes in. I'll be so far behind you guys by then, and you'll all be off doing these great things and I'll still be…."

"You'll be doing what you want, Iz," he insisted, "and we'll all still be here. And it's not like we work together a lot now, anyway. Meredith's off in neuro, Yang's always plotting something against Hahn," he remarked impatiently. "I know," she said, giggling despite herself as his expression soured, as it did whenever Christina's name came up.

"And Bailey did say that I could start shadowing an attending in peds now, if I wanted to. But if I changed my mind," she added nervously, " I'd basically have given up my place in the surgical program already. I'd have to reapply, and it's very unlikely they'd readmit me. "So what you'd tell them?" Alex asked. "I want to do it," she said softly, after a long silence, "I keep going over it and over it in my head, but it just feels right."

"So when would you start," he asked, "with the shadowing and everything?" "Next week," she said, her voice wavering, "and between that and the clinic it all just seems like so, wow, all of a sudden," she replied, almost wide-eyed. "Like, how am I going to do it all?" she added, shuddering.

"You'll just do it," Alex shrugged, his voice matter of fact, as if stating the obvious. "You excited?" he asked. "Yeah," she admitted, nodding shyly. "I'll get to work with kids. I can even imagine expanding the pediatric services the clinic offers someday, you know, like maybe into more pre-natal care. There's such a need for that, and…"

"Barton would be all over that, Iz," Alex pointed out. "A lot of people up in neo-natal would be. Even Bailey…" "Oh, I know," Izzie brightened, "I can just see this doing so much good someday, and I…" "And what?" he asked, maneuvering to retrieve his pop corn. She shrugged, suddenly quiet again, "It still seems like it's going to take so long, and it's going to be so much work," she sighed.

"Sounds like you're ready for it, Iz," he said casually, grabbing a handful of pop corn as he returned to his video. "What are you watching anyway?" she asked, pulling the bowl back from him again. "Bowel reconstruction," he mumbled while chewing. "Ew, how can you eat while you watch this" she objected. "I'm a surgeon," he said proudly, "this is prime entertainment, plus it's educational."

"You're a sociopath," she corrected, hunkering down into the couch and holding the bowl in front of her eyes as she ate. "This is the best part," he protested, vigorously shaking his head. "Uh-huh," she muttered tiredly, putting the bowl back on the table and leaning back against him. "I thought I was a sociopath?" he teased, as she settled into him. "You are," she yawned, burying her head in his chest.

"Oh," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair and lightly kissing her head, "are you into sociopaths these days?" "You wish," she taunted, sliding her arms around him as her eyes fluttered closed. "This okay?" he asked quietly, pulling the light blanket draped over the back of the couch around her. "Um-hum," she nodded. "Dude," Alex whispered fifteen minutes later, watching transfixed as the bowel reconstruction continued, "you're so missing the best part."


	5. Chapter 5

"So Barbie's joining the pre-school set, huh," Christina remarked smugly, a week later. "That figures. I knew she'd never make it as a surgeon." "Christina," Meredith warned, pointing a celery stalk at her, "stop that. This was a very difficult decision for her and the least we can do is be supportive. "What," Christina objected, "that was supportive. I can do supportive. I'm just saying that she had no business in surgery. Especially not cardio, what was up with that? She was nowhere near hardcore enough for cardio."

"Can't all be robots, crack whore" Alex snapped, slamming his straw into his soda, "or are you just jealous because the people in peds are happy to work with her?" "You're so stupid, Evil Spawn," Christina spat, grinning triumphantly as he looked up, puzzled. "Haven't you heard," Meredith asked jokingly, "Hahn finally caved." "She didn't cave," Christina insisted proudly, "she finally recognized my superior skill as a surgeon, and as a research assistant."

"She actually put you on a project?" Alex smirked. "Guess she'd do anything to get you to go away." Christina smiled smugly, motioning toward the slim binder in front of her. "Data analysis, Evil Spawn, Data analysis," she crowed. "Bookkeeping," Alex sniped while he chewed. "Ten year project," Christina shot back, dreamily, "fully funded, with one of the top cardio surgeons in the country. Cardio, Evil Spawn, cardio," she emphasized, drawing out the word, "not your usual pink and squishy fluff."

"Guys," Meredith broke in, "I was just saying that I think Izzie…" "Izzie what?" Izzie asked suspiciously, setting her tray down. "Izzie," Meredith said awkwardly, "we were just talking about your, you know, your move to pediatrics. How's that going?" "Yeah, Barbie," Christina sniped, "any good cases of head lice lately?"

"Christina," Meredith snapped. "I don't know, Christina," Izzie shot back, "why do you ask. Have you had any unusual itching lately, any discolorations along the hair line?" Christina snorted. "Come on Barbie, lighten up. I just told them I think you made the right choice." You did?" Izzie asked, shocked. "Yeah," Christina nodded, peeling her orange, "you never belonged in surgery in the first place."

"You mean, because I'm an actual, oh… I don't know, human being?" Izzie snapped. Christina rolled her eyes, glancing at Meredith. "Look Barbie, all I meant was…" "Forget it, you know," Izzie said, grabbing her sandwich from her tray. "Iz, come on," Alex said, "just sit down with us. Ignore the crack whore," he said, glaring at Christina. "You know she's just jealous because everyone in cardio hates her." "I'm late for a meeting, anyway," Izzie said, shaking her head as she stalked out of the cafeteria.

"Christina," Meredith hissed, "that was…" "What?" Christina said impatiently. "Total crap," Alex spat, seething at her. "She's nervous enough already…" "Oh, now you're both going to defend poor little Barbie?" Christina said disgustedly. "You are jealous," Alex smirked, sitting back in his chair. "Of a pre-schooler? Christina huffed. "You're even dumber than you look Spawn."

"Christina," Meredith interrupted, looking at her curiously. "I am not jealous of anyone here," Christina snapped. "I'm the best, the best surgical resident, the best researcher," she added, motioning to the binder in front of her, "and everyone in cardio is going to love me when my work puts this place on the map." Alex rolled his eyes at her. "You think it's worth it to them, huh, to put up with this," he said, motioning toward her, "you don't think Hahn would have caved sooner if it was?"

"Hahn's the one who's jealous," Christina grumbled. "She knows I'm going to be a better surgeon than her, and she's trying to hold me back." "Christina," Meredith warned, motioning to her to lower her voice, "don't you think you're getting a little carried away here?" "I'm the best, Meredith" Christina insisted, " I'm a surgeon. That's who I am, it's all I've got, and if Barbie or anyone else wants to run around wiping runny noses," she added dismissively, motioning toward Alex, "that's their problem."

"Just lay off Izzie," Alex growled, plopping her discarded tray atop his and pushing his chair out noisily as he stood up. "You've got a problem with Hahn, take it up with her. Leave Izzie out of it," he grumbled, walking away from the table. "He's right, Christina," Meredith said softly. "You've been sniping at Izzie a lot lately. It's not her fault that Hahn was more willing to work with her than with you before Izzie decided to switch…" "She had it," Meredith," Christina said, shaking her head, " she had what I wanted, and she threw it away, and Hahn still doesn't want to work with me."

"But you're on her project," Meredith pointed out confused, gesturing to the papers on the table, "or was Alex right that….? "Oh, right," Meredith nodded, seeing Christina's horrified expression, "of course he wasn't, he's Evil Spawn. Still…. " "Hahn doesn't want to teach me, Meredith," Christina said, "she'll let me do…. " "Bookkeeping?" Meredith ventured hesitantly, reluctant to use Alex's words. "Yeah," Christina sighed, "but she won't teach me."

"Have you tried, you know, being nice to her," Meredith asked, wincing. "I'm always nice," Christina said, her voice rising as she picked up her tray. "Maybe that's the problem," she added, "maybe I've been too nice. That gives me an idea," she remarked, taking her tray and stalking off to work on her data analysis. "Yes," Meredith groaned, lowering her head to the table, "I'm sure that's the problem."

--

"Move over," Izzie whispered, two months later, gently nudging Alex. "Ummm" he sighed, barely stirring as she slid in bed beside him. She glanced at the clock, wondering how she'd ever done it the first time around, these intern hours, the never ending rounds, the late night charting.

"Morning?" he murmured sleepily, sliding his arms around her. "Still night," she said tiredly, curling around him as his hands slid down her back. It wasn't supposed to be like this, she thought, her mind still on over-drive while her body was crashing. The last few weeks had been a blur of new faces, and new names, and new procedures. Everything was just familiar enough to get her into trouble, every medical protocol, when adapted to kids, just a little more tricky than she expected.

"How'd it go?" he asked softly, his chin brushing her hair. "Okay. Good. Crazy. Awful, she breathed, all in one jumbled sentence. "The usual?" he teased, his fingers tangling her wavy locks as he stroked the back of her neck. "I didn't even check my schedule," she admitted wryly. "I'm off tomorrow, and I just don't want to know after that." "So you can sleep in," he muttered, lightly kissing her neck, "get some rest."

"Not really," she said, distracted. "I've got a million errands, and for all I know, I won't have another day off for a week. "Anything I can help you with," he muttered, nibbling behind her ear as he ran his hands down her sides, "I should be home by six." "Grocery shopping," she sighed, "maybe laundry." "Hmmm, laundry," he crooned, his warm hands sliding back up around her, "can I watch?" She giggled, pushing his hands away, "How do you manage to make laundry sound so perverted?"

"It's a gift," he agreed smugly, drawing her closer to him. "Oh my, God," Izzie squeaked suddenly, "a gift, I forgot." "Forgot what?" he asked tiredly, resting his head next to hers on the pillow. "My mother's birthday" she said. "Today?" he asked. "No," she replied, "next week." "So what's the problem?" he asked, tightening his embrace, you've got time. "I haven't even sent her a birthday card in years," she admitted, "I'd just, I'd like to do something nice this time, you know."

"Like what?" he asked, resting his head on hers. "I don't know," she confessed, "I haven't had time to think about it." "You'll figure it out," he said, brushing his lips across her forehead. "What if I pick something she hates?" she asked, squirming uneasily at the thought. "You won't," he insisted, squeezing her fingers. "Maybe it's too soon," she said, "we've just really started, you know, talking much again. Maybe I should wait."

"Maybe," he acknowledged, as she nestled against him. "But if I did get her something, I'd want her to love it," she added. "She would," he reassured her, his voice dropping as his breathing slowed to a steady, soothing rhythm. Izzie lay quietly, listening to its cadence and wondering how this all got so complicated, with her mother, with her career. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was already supposed to know what she wanted to be when she grew up, she was already supposed to be doing it, actually, like Meredith was, and Christina, and not still running to catch up with them.

She felt Alex stir slightly as he drifted off to sleep, and double checked his alarm clock before kissing him softly and settling in beside him. She remembered how hard the first weeks of her first internship were, but not whether things had just gotten imperceptibly better after that, or if she'd just gotten used to the craziness. Either way, she thought, like Alex had told her at lunch that day, she'd done it before, so she could do it again. "Yeah," she repeated to herself, exhaling heavily as she dropped off to sleep, "I can do this."

She didn't' hear his alarm the next morning, and didn't wake up until nearly noon, in the middle of the bed, wrapped snugly in her over-stuffed white comforter. She woke slowly and showered before drifting downstairs. Too late for breakfast, she skipped straight to ice cream. She dragged in the morning paper and placed her tea cup on the table, next to the car keys that he always left when she had errands, and the gas money he always set beside them after the tenth of each month, and the small empty plate he put out whenever it might be grocery shopping day, because yeah she was busy, but how long could it take to bake some freaking cookies while you're studying anyway.

She laughed at his system as she walked over to the phone, playing back last night's messages while grabbing a pad to write her shopping list. She tore off the top two sheets of paper, ignoring the phone messages selling vinyl siding and satellite television service, but was distracted by the paper underneath, covered in Alex's distinctive block shaped printing – impressive penmanship, Christina had once told him, if he were still in second grade - which was typically sloppy but just legible enough. "Why does he do this?" she sighed out loud, rolling her eyes as she searched the cupboards for flour.

--

"So, what do you think of the cabinets?" Derek asked, watching as Meredith busily scanned patient charts between surgeries. "They're great," she responded immediately, not looking up. "Really," he asked, "so you're okay with the purple wood with the pink and yellow polka dots." "That's fine," she said, "whatever you want." "Meredith," he said, amusement lacing his voice, "could you be less interested in this?"

"What," she asked, looking up at him, startled. "You really want purple cabinets in the kitchen?" he asked. She looked at him, baffled. "What? No? Why… Who said I wanted purple cabinets?" she stammered. "You just did," he pointed out, getting up from his desk and walking over to her. "I think I'd remember saying something like that," she objected. He raised his eyebrows at her, trying to contain his amusement.

"Okay," she said. "So I'm not interested. Really, Derek, it's a kitchen, and in case you haven't noticed, I don't cook. Not even ice cubes. Izzie cooks for us. Without her, we'd be hanging out behind fast food restaurants fighting off the stray dogs for the scraps."

"That bad, huh?" he laughed. "We may have to do something about that."

"Like what?" she asked suspiciously, scowling at him, almost hurt. "I said both of us," he laughed again. "All I can cook is fish. And," he repeated adamantly, "Izzie's not moving in with us either, so unless we want to starve, we may need to learn how to…. " "Cook?" Meredith asked incredulously, as if he'd just suggested they take a brief trip to the moon. "People do it," he smirked, "surgeons do it. I've seen some personally."

"I know that," she said, "but…" "But what?" he asked, noting her sudden silence. "You've never thought about this before, have you?" he said, amusement seeping back into his voice. "Kitchen cabinets?" she asked sarcastically. "No," he shook his head, "cooking. Us, cooking, how we'd eat," he teased. "I assumed that we 'd figure it out," she said smugly. "Um-hum," he nodded warily. "Actually," she admitted, "I kind of assumed you knew how to cook."

"Me?" he asked, "you mean because I'm a brilliant brain surgeon?" "No," she said, rolling her eyes, "because you were raised by a mother and four sisters." "Not a good assumption," he corrected. "I grew up with four sisters, and we had a maid. I never got anywhere near the kitchen. Didn't know we had one," he added huffily.

"So what are you proposing," she asked, "that we hire your family's old maid? Is she available? Your sisters aren't living with us either, you know" she added sternly. "I was thinking we could take a cooking class together," he said, crossing his arms as he walked back over to the kitchen design board. "A cooking class?" she repeated. "Yes," he said, "a cooking class. You went to medical school. You've taken classes. This would be like medical school, except with food."

"You're serious?" she asked. "You want us to take a class. A cooking class. Together?" "That was the idea, yes" he nodded. "When did you think of this?" she asked, as if he'd just suggested that they rob a bank. "Since I started looking at these kitchen designs," he answered flatly, "and realized that we're going to have a professional grade kitchen that neither of us will know how to use."

Meredith nodded slowly, suspicious again. "Is this because I didn't want the second floor terrace? Because, Derek, I really thought that was over the top." "No, no," he insisted, shaking his head, "this is about the kitchen, and about how we're going to live in our house, you know, together, once it's done." "Okay," she said, nodding, "I can see that. We need to consider this. We've never really had to think about, well, food like this, before."

"I think it might be fun," he added, "the cooking class, I mean. And I think we should know how to use something in the kitchen besides the wine chiller." "We're getting a wine chiller?" Meredith giggled. "Of course," he said. "What happened to mountain man, live off the land and the trout?" she teased. "He up-graded," Derek shot back. "Mountain man goes to cooking school?" she laughed. "He evolved," Derek announced, leaning over his computer to call up another display of cabinet surfaces.

"Okay," she said, finally. "Okay, what?" he asked, scrolling across the screen. "Okay we'll take one of those classes." "Really?" he asked, "you want to?" Meredith shrugged. "I never thought about it before. But you're right," she said. "We're going to have to figure out how to do this," she agreed, motioning to his kitchen designs, "all of it." "In that case," he grinned, "do you want to look at some cabinet surfaces?"

"You know what I don't want," she reminded him, watching as he nodded. "Just pick out something nice, not too dark, and not too complicated," she added. "Kitchen cabinets?" he asked, puzzled. "Appliances, ovens, utensils, cooking stuff, you know," she insisted. "You sure you don't want to look at…" "Why would I want to look that," she demanded, holding up a stack of films as she walked out of his office, "when I have a lovely set of tumor images right here."

--

"I hate stainless steel," Izzie announced, shifting abruptly as Alex's lips meandered slowly across her shoulder. "Scalpels?" he asked, nuzzling her neck. "Bake ware," she replied. "Meredith's learning how to cook and Derek's all into stainless steel, so tonight she brought home some of the cook ware they've been practicing with in their cooking class. "And?" he said, nibbling her ear. "Don't ask," Izzie giggled, shaking her head. "She's learning," he said patiently, his lips brushing her hair. "Just check the batteries in the fire alarms tomorrow, okay?" she asked, "I'd rather be safe then sorry."

"Will do," he agreed, drawing her to him as he kissed her collarbone. "I mean, I'm helping her and all, but it's hard to learn at first, you know?" she said sympathetically, her soft curls spilling over his shoulder. "Mhm-hmm," he agreed, shivering slightly as she ran her hands along his smooth back, grazing him lightly with her fingertips "I mean, even I have to try new recipes a few times before I make anything edible. Did you like those cookies, by the way?" "The greens ones," he asked, tracing her face delicately with his fingers as he leaned in to kiss her, "yeah, those were great."

"I'll have to make some more of those for Thanksgiving," she remarked, gazing into his eyes as his tongue slipped lightly between her lips. "Um-hum," he agreed, rolling onto his side as she traced her fingers down his chest, her body snaking around his as he deepened the kiss. He shivered as she brushed her fingertips along his sides, her soft breast tickling his ribs, and sighed deeply as she slid her hands across his hips, releasing his kiss as she teased his back, her fingertips fluttering across the base of his spine.

"You're distracting me," she accused, mischievously. "We're going to have a full house for Thanksgiving. I have an entire menu to plan." "Can I be on it?" he grinned, inhaling sharply as her hands continued their travels. "For everyone?" she asked, "slut." "Men aren't sluts," he insisted smugly, quivering slightly at her touch. "You're right," she admitted, "I should have said man-whore." "That's better," he agreed, suppressing a gasp as her explorations picked up speed. "What was that?" she taunted, giggling as he struggled to control his breathing.

"Why you do that, anyway?" she asked casually, as he rolled over on top of her, "distract me like that when I'm busy?" "Sorry," he muttered sheepishly, flashing a boyish pout before sweeping a flurry of light kisses across her stomach, his hands sliding around her hips. "Are not," she murmured, her breathing quickening as his hands teased her thighs, and his lips wandered over to meet them. "What was that?" he mumbled, an indistinct sound barely escaping her throat as she shuddered, her nails digging into his back.

"Right, the menu," he mumbled, kissing back up along her the length of her body, fingers marching delicately along her sides, teasing her breasts, as he resumed nibbling her neck. "I'm thinking French fires," he murmured. "You know, for the vegetable," he added, gazing into her eyes as he slid into her, exploding her menu planning.

"What were we talking about?" Izzie asked sleepily, hours later, as he nuzzled her neck. "Oh, right," she said, curling around him, "menus." "French fries," he repeated groggily, already dozing off as he nestled against her. "Not for Thanksgiving," she chided, gently fingering his hair as another pout crossed his face. "But," she sighed, brushing her lips across his cheek as she drifted off to sleep, "I'll make you some tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

"So, who's coming for Thanksgiving?" Meredith asked a few days later, as Izzie and Alex huddled around the kitchen table, planning the menu. "The usual suspects," Alex grumbled, scowling as he crossed French fries off the list - at Izzie's insistence - and replaced them with sweet potatoes. "Dinner will be at six," Izzie chirped. "I also invited a few people from my peds rotations."

"You didn't invite Barton did you?" Meredith asked, "Derek really can't stand her." "I did, but she declined," Izzie responded, checking the cabinets for canned vegetables. "Probably going to write another book over the holiday," Alex said, "she took the whole week off." "Write a book in a week?" Meredith asked, amused at his tone. "Chick's a robot. For all I know, she's going in for an oil change," he replied. "Alex," Meredith insisted, playfully slapping his arm "be nice, she's your attending."

"I like her," Izzie said, peering curiously into the pantry. "We work with her a lot on our rotations. "I like her, too," Alex offered, rooting in the cookie jar. "She publishes like crazy. I do all her prep work and post-ops, so she has more time to write. She builds her research reputation, and I get in on it for working with her, it's great." "You sound almost like…" Meredith started. "Finish that sentence and die Grey," Alex threatened, almost spewing cookie crumbs at her for added measure.

"Is Derek coming for dinner tonight?" Izzie asked suddenly, checking the pots boiling on the stove, "because this is almost ready." "No," Meredith said, "it's just us tonight. He said he had a couple of errands to run, and we've got an early surgery in the morning." "Ooh," Izzie piped up, "would one of his errands involve picking up something bright and shiny for Thanksgiving?" "Izzie," Meredith laughed. "it happens when it happens, okay?" "I'm just saying," Izzie said, smiling as she buried her head in another cook book.

"I invited my mother, too" Izzie said quietly, after Meredith had left the room. "Yeah," Alex asked, poking through the cookie jar again, "that's great Iz. So we'll finally get to meet her?" Izzie shook her head, "She's working on Thanksgiving. But she said she has every other holiday off, so I think I'm going to ask her to come for Christmas." "That'd be good," he nodded, "why didn't you ask her when you were talking to her yesterday?"

Izzie shrugged sheepishly, "Gives us something to talk about next time," she admitted, "plus it makes me nervous, you know." "Iz," Alex objected "the more time you spend with her, the more she's going to love you." "You think?" she asked, "we never really got along when I was younger." "You're not a kid anymore, Iz, you've changed, she's changed, and hey," he continued, wrapping his arms around her from behind and planting a kiss on her neck, "who wouldn't love you?"

"Uh-hu," Izzie nodded, rolling her eyes as she savored his embrace, "so is this your way of telling me that we're out of those cookies again?" He chuckled as she turned to face his guilty pout. "You mean the jagged ones with the green edges, yeah," he said, "we could use some more of those." "What are you, five?" she teased, taking his face in her hands and kissing him gently.

"Go on," she said, giggling again as she met his eager eyes, "I can't even look at you when you're like this. Go get the orange bowls out of the cabinet. I'll make you some more before we go to the grocery store. But you're helping me do the shopping later," she added sternly, poking a finger in his chest for emphasis. "Deal," he said.

"So, when your mom comes for Christmas, we'll have two hot chicks who can bake here," he noted, raising his eyebrows in her direction as he pulled down the bowls she requested. "Alex," she chided, "my mother is not hot!" He shook his head, laughing, as he ducked the dish towel she'd tossed at him. "Oh, I'm betting she is," he said, grinning wickedly, "I'm betting she so is." "Flirt," she snapped, sticking her tongue out at him. "Yeah," he agreed, placing the bowls beside her on the counter as he kissed her again.

--

Izzie sat bolt upright, scrambling to check the time before remembering that she wasn't working that day. She dropped back onto the bed, careful not to wake Alex, and exhaled deeply. Readjusting to intern's hours that fall had been a challenge, as she moved further into her training in pediatrics. The schedule was grueling, the ribbing she took from her friends was annoying, and working with kids was much harder than she expected it to be; she was happier than she'd been in a long time.

She rolled over onto her side, poking Alex lightly, not enough to wake him, but enough to turn his usual soft pout into a comical grimace. She giggled as she recalled his adamant insistence that he was not ticklish, anywhere, at all. Trailing her fingers idly along his left side, she sighed, appreciatively eying his body as he rolled toward her, half burying his face in the pillow. "Tease," she protested, grazing her fingers through his hair and down along his jaw. "Flirt," he muttered, lazily opening his eyes.

She giggled at his sleepy expression, moving her face closer to his, wondering what color his eyes would be that morning. It was a game she'd played with herself for the last few months, something she'd begun soon after they'd started feeding their respective beasts again, as Alex so romantically described their re-whatever. She'd heard people speculate often about what Alex's first language might be, since it plainly wasn't English, but it wasn't like she could come up with a better term to describe their… latest togetherness.

It was certainly no epic romance. Alex was still Alex, with his volatile temper, and his brutal honesty; he was nobody's McDreamy. He was still a man of few words, though probably not, as Christina insisted, because he knew so few. He still spoke little about his past, and never about Rebecca. But his voice was its own thesaurus, its timber lending 'whatever' and 'Iz' an infinity of meanings, and he still spent some nights curled closely into the soft curve of her shoulder – where no words were necessary.

"You finally awake?" he asked smugly, sliding his arm around her and pulling her in to kiss her. "Nope," she retorted, playfully pushing him away. "Tease," he complained, tightening his embrace as he rolled her onto her back. He'd asked her if she was sure, the first night, and again the second, and again the third; she realized then that he was trying to protect her, too.

"Alex," she chided, poking at his chest, "ask nice." She'd been nervous, really, the first night, and the second, and maybe the third, because he was still Alex, and she was still Izzie, and they were both fumbling awkwardly toward this… latest togetherness thing. She wasn't sure that it wouldn't end like it had the first time, when he'd gone off after Olivia, and she'd gone off after someday. She was pretty sure, though, that he'd never disappoint her as much as someday had.

"What should I ask for?" he smirked, burying his mischievous grin in her hair as he nibbled behind her ear. He was definitely still Alex, who made her crazy, and made her laugh, and made her want to strangle him, whenever he wasn't looking at her with those eyes that she was sure had a separate hue for every mood, rich warm browns melding into greens and hazels, and ambers flecked with gold. "Use your imagination," she taunted, catching his gaze. She would have killed him by now, she was sure, if it weren't for those eyes.

"How about a hint?" he prodded, his hands and his lips working their way slowly down her body. She grazed her fingers down his back, her long nails grazing its smooth flesh. He'd teased her about her nails scaring the children on her peds rotations, but he had encouraged her choice to switch specialties from day one. He adapted his schedule to hers, he helped her in the clinic when she was over-whelmed, and he shot down her theories about how she could never make this transition work, finally putting all of his detailed rebuttals together on a laminated card and posting it in her locker.

"Nothing special you have in mind, huh?" he crooned, between well placed kisses along her thighs. "Umm-um," she murmured softly, definitely still Alex, who bought her lunch everyday, because residents made more than interns, but who scooped all of the tomatoes out of her salad, with his fingers, rather than order his own, because he didn't eat rabbit food. Still Alex, who reviewed research articles with her at night, because he insisted proudly that she'd soon be an expert in both peds and neo-natal, and who told Barton that she was a natural collaborator for her latest research project, and who beamed when the kids in the clinic flocked to her, like a freaking mother goose.

"Maybe something like this?" he murmured mischievously, his hands sauntering leisurely across her hips, his lips and fingers conspiring as she shuddered. Definitely still lustful, indiscriminate Alex, whose hands – made half of butter, half of sandpaper – burnished her skin to a fine sheen, and whose body melted wordlessly into hers; definitely still distant, uncommunicative Alex, who kept everyone at arm's length and who hated to be seen, but who turned up in the mornings right where she stashed him, his bare body comfortably nestled beside hers, sleeping peacefully.

"Hmm… right there," she muttered, her hands running through his hair, gasping as he rendered her speechless yet again. Definitely still inarticulate Alex, who chocked on apologies and couldn't pronounce the word love. Still Alex, who left his car keys on the table, no questions asked, and the cookie dough ice cream in the freeze during exam weeks, because peds was so freaking tough, and who sent flowers on her mother's birthday when she had hesitated, because chicks are into dead weeds – and moms are important - and who had had the card signed simply Iz, as if that said all that could ever need saying.

"Still nothing special I should be asking for?" he repeated, shifting as she'd directed. He told her, often enough, that the others had nothing on her. She thought that he meant Christina and Meredith, and that he'd been talking about her future as a doctor, which he believed in so whole heartedly that she couldn't help but believe in it too. But sometimes she wondered if maybe he didn't mean something else, when he assured her that no one compared to her. "Uh-huh," she giggled finally, abruptly flipping him over and pinning him to the bed, "stamina."

--

"Iz, you almost ready? Party starts at eight," Alex yelled. "I'm coming," she shouted, "be down in a second. "You called it," he said, moving to get their coats as she came down the stairs. "Shepherd proposing on Christmas Eve," he replied, when Izzie looked at him, baffled. "Yeah, right," she said, plainly distracted.

"Something wrong, Iz?" he asked, moving to help her on with her coat but pulling back when he saw her face. "I just want to sit down for a minute," she said, walking into the living room and settling on the couch. "Is this about that other Christmas tree?" Alex asked, sighing impatiently. "I told you, Iz, it would never have fit in here, even if we took the freaking roof off the house. This one's fine," he declared, shuddering slightly as he motioned toward the gargantuan Blue Spruce that dominated the room and was outfitted, as for as he could tell, for a heavy metal prom.

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head, "and I love the tree, thank you helping me to set it up." "Yeah, well," he said, clearing his throat, "what's wrong than?" "I don't want to move, Alex," she said stubbornly. "What?" he asked. "Derek and Meredith, their house will be finished soon, probably this summer" she said sadly. "Yeah, well, Iz," Alex said, baffled at her concern, "I don't think they mean for us to move in with them." "I know that," she snapped, "I mean I don't want to leave this house."

"We could find another house, you know," Alex said, "there's plenty of places for rent around here." "I love this house," Izzie insisted. "I've always wanted a huge fireplace to decorate at Christmas, and a place for a big Christmas tree, and a fancy dining room, and a porch with a swing. I grew up in a trailer park, Alex," she continued, "where people's homes could be towed away over night. And this house, this house seems like it's been here forever, like it belongs here, you know, like it'll always be here."

"Okay," he said, "well let's talk to Meredith about renting it from her." "Really?" Izzie asked? "Why not," he shrugged. "It'll be expensive, you know, utilities and all, but I'll start my fellowship this fall so I'll be making more money. Maybe we'll be able to work something out."

"You think so," she asked, ducking her shoulders down as he helped her on with her coat. "Can't hurt to ask," he said, rearranging her hair around her collar as he leaned in to kiss her. "Mmm," he said, "what's that scent?" "Toothpaste," she said, rolling her eyes. "You should wear it more often," he crooned, kissing her neck. "Fluoride turns you on, does it?" she asked warily. "Oh, yeah," he admitted, nodding vigorously. "What doesn't?" she teased, pushing him away, "Come on, or we're going to miss their engagement party. "

--

"So you're taking the fellowship offer here after all?" Izzie asked, watching Alex unwrap his sandwich. "Of course," he said, "I signed the papers this morning. It starts September 8th, next Tuesday, I think. It's not like we could move, right?" he continued sarcastically, "Where else could we ever find a hospital with a big old house on a hill within driving distance?"

"That's awesome," Izzie gushed, "and Meredith's staying here, and Christina's going to Mercy West so we'll get to see her too…" "Great," Alex grumbled, as he stabbed at his French fires. "You'll still have some time to volunteer in the clinic after your fellowship starts, right?" she asked, uncovering her salad. "Yeah," he nodded as he chewed, "my schedule will rotate, but I should be able to squeeze in a few hours a week."

"It's not like I'll be busy or anything," he added. "Oh, right," she said, rolling her eyes, "and I'll have all this free time, you know, with running the clinic and finishing up my peds residency…" "Dude," Alex interrupted, "it's not like you're a surgeon or anything." "Flirt," she snapped, slapping his arm as he moved in to kiss her. "Tease," he shot back, fishing a tomato out of her salad.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you," she added, defending her salad with a plastic fork, "Meredith should be here in a few minutes. She's finally got a light day. Between that clinical trial and Derek's house projects, I've hardly had a chance to talk with her this week. "What's he building now, a moat?" Alex asked, wending his fingers around her fork and lifting another tomato. "You never know when you might need one," she glared, threatening to stab his hand with her plastic fork again. "Get your own salad!"

"I don't eat rabbit food," he reminded her smugly, eying her cucumbers. "They've been married less than a month," he said patiently. "Give it time. They'll come up for air soon and than Meredith will come out and play with you again." "I know," Izzie laughed, "and she's happy. Did you hear they're getting a dog?"

Alex shook his head, poking his straw into his soda. "Here," he said, sliding a small brown envelope across the table, "open this before Meredith gets here." "What, why," she asked. "Just open it," he said, slurping his drink. "It's a… Christmas tree keychain," she said, peeking cautiously inside. "It's nice Alex," she said, a little confused, "but it's only September…" "Look underneath the tree," he nodded toward the envelope. "A key to… Mere's house?" she asked.

"Not Mere's house anymore," he said flatly, shaking his head as he munched his French fries. "We bought it this morning. I signed those papers, too." "We bought a house this morning?" she gasped, wide-eyed. He nodded, picking the cucumbers out of her salad. "No ring yet," he said, shaking his head, his voice matter of fact as he piled cucumbers on his sandwich, "got this big mortgage to pay and all, so that'll have to wait a few months. But, just so you know" he shrugged, pointing to the key ring as he stuffed a cucumber into his mouth, "I come with the house."

"You come with the house?" Izzie repeated, suppressing a giggle. "So, what, Meredith sold you with it, like, along with the appliances and all?" "Pretty much," he nodded, chewing his sandwich, "It's in our bill of sale. All permanent fixtures convey with the house. So if you want to do all that Christmas decorating and holiday stuff you like, you're going to have to do it with me from now on." "Seriously," Izzie huffed, "so Meredith lands this great McDreamy brain surgeon and a brand new mansion with a moat and a fabulous career, and all I'm going to get for Christmas is a freaking gynecologist?"

"What did we say about comparing?" he chided, leaning in to kiss her. "I know, I know," she laughed. "You complaining?" he asked softly. "No" she said, beaming as she took his face gently in her hands, meeting his gaze "no complaints." She leaned forward to kiss him, before drawing back and stopping abruptly, "The oven stays too, right? she asked suddenly. "Everything stays," he whispered, leaning in closer. "Sweet," Izzie gushed, her lips melting into his.


End file.
